


Rain Will Make The Flowers Grow

by albeeon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, I think I cried, Maybe I'm just too emotional, Out of Character, Sherlock is a little OOC, So is John but I TRIED, idk - Freeform, if you don't like angst then skip to the next chapter, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albeeon/pseuds/albeeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A two-piece ficlet in which Sherlock comes back and John's severely wounded. The first chapter is the sad ending and the second is the happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Triste

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sad version of this tiny little ficlet.  
> (The whole thing is totally colorsinthedarkness's fault)

A Little Fall of Rain

_Sherlock: Good God, what are you doing?_

_John, have you no fear?_

_Have you seen Sebastian?_

_Why have you come back here?_

_John: Was on a case like you said_

_I met the sniper at the door_

_He said you were alive_

_I don’t think I can stand it anymore_

_Sherlock: John, what’s wrong?_

_There’s something wet upon your hair_

_John, you’re hurt_

_You need some help_

_Oh, God, it’s everywhere_

_John: Don’t you fret, Sherlock Holmes_

_I don’t feel any pain_

_A little fall of rain_

_Can hardly hurt me now_

_You’re here, that’s all I need to know_

_And you will keep me safe_

_And you will keep me close_

_And rain will make the flowers grow_

_Sherlock: But you will live, John—dear God above_

_If I could heal your wounds with words of love_

_John: Just hold me now, and let it be_

_Shelter me, comfort me_

_Sherlock: You would live a hundred years_

_If I could show you how_

_I won’t desert you now_

_John: The rain can’t hurt me now_

_This rain will wash away what’s past_

_And you will keep me safe_

_And you will keep me close_

_I’ll sleep in your embrace at last_

_The rain that brings you here_

_Is Heaven-blessed_

_The skies begin to clear_

_And I’m at rest_

_A breath away from where you are_

_You’ve come home from so far_

 

 

 

_So don’t you fret, Sh’lock Holmes_

_I don’t feel any pain_

_A little fall of rain_

_Can hardly hurt me now_

_Sherlock: I’m here_

_John: That’s all I need to know_

_And you will keep me safe_

_And you will keep me close_

_Sherlock: Hush-a-bye, dear Watson_

_You won’t feel any pain_

_A little fall of rain_

_Can hardly hurt you now_

_I’m here_

_I will stay with you_

_Till you are sleeping_

_John: And rain…_

_Sherlock: And rain…_

_John: Will make the flowers…_

_Sherlock: Will make the flowers… grow._

  
_  
_***

John sat, slumped against the black cast-iron fence. His chest rose and fell shallowly, and Sherlock rushed towards him. “Good God, John, what are you doing?” Sherlock sank down next to him. John merely smiled, shrugging. “Have you no fear?” Sherlock asked him, slightly out of breath. John raised his hand and gestured towards 221B with his thumb. “Have you seen Sebastian? What are you doing back here?”

“Was on a case, like you said.” John mumbled, and Sherlock frowned. He hadn’t said anything—he hadn’t seen John in three years. “I met the sniper at the door. He said you were alive.” John’s breathing hitched. “I don’t think I can stand it anymore.” What? John couldn’t stand what?

“John, what’s wrong?” Sherlock asked, worried. He had certainly not been expecting this reaction from John at all. John smiled again, shaking his head. Sherlock tentatively pushed John’s hair away from his face, and stopped. “There’s something wet upon your hair—John, you’re hurt!” He snatched his hand away, whipping out his phone, dialling 999, panicking. “You need some help—” Sherlock’s voice shook the tiniest bit with fear as he barked out the situation and their location to 999. He sucked in a breath as he caught sight of the dark stain blooming on John’s jacket, and he dropped the phone in his hurry to yank away the jacket. John’s light blue shirt was tainted by dark red. “Oh God—it’s everywhere!” He choked on his own words. John’s smile softened, and he reached out to touch Sherlock’s face. John looked so peaceful—why did he look so peaceful?

“Don’t you fret, Sherlock Holmes,” John murmured, voice calm, “I don’t feel any pain.” Sherlock shook his head quickly, movements jerky. “A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now.” Sherlock hadn’t even noticed it was raining, and only then felt the droplets hiting his skin and his hair. “You’re here, that’s all I need to know. And you will keep me safe, and you will keep me close.” John’s gaze slid over to the flowerbeds. He huffed out a gentle little laugh. “And rain will make the flowers grow.”

“But you will live, John—” Sherlock insisted, and shifted, holding John in his arms. His hand pressed to John’s wound on his abdomen, trying to staunch the blood. “Dear God above,” he muttered under his breath. “If I could heal your wounds with words of love…” John’s head dropped onto the space between his chest and his shoulder.

“Just hold me now, and let it be.” John told him softly. That wasn’t right—John was comforting Sherlock. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? “Shelter me, comfort me.”

Something dark and terrifying like acceptance gripped Sherlock’s heart. “You would live a hundred years if I could show you how,” he told John, “I won’t desert you now.”

“This rain can’t hurt me now.” John smiled. “The rain will wash away what’s past, and you will keep me safe, and you will keep me close. I’ll sleep in your embrace at last.” Sherlock shook his head again, opening his mouth to protest weakly, but John cut in. “And I’m at rest, a breath away from where you are; you’ve come home from so far.”

“Shhh, John,” Sherlock whispered, acceptance seeping lethargically into his bones, “You won’t feel any pain.” He allowed himself to touch John’s hair again, this time in comfort. “A little fall of rain can hardly hurt you now. I’m here.” He kissed John’s forehead, staying close.

“That’s all I need to know.” John sighed, but Sherlock could feel John quivering as his body gave its last efforts to stay alive.

“I will stay with you till you are sleeping.” Sherlock’s voice was broken, muted. John’s steely grey eyes met Sherlock’s blue-silver-green ones.

“And rain…” John spoke through gritted teeth, his body shaking.

“And rain…” Sherlock repeated.

“Will make the flowers…”

“Will make the flowers…” Sherlock waited and waited and _waited_ , but John was silent and there was no light in his eyes. “Grow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The platonic John to my Sherlock wrote a little poem for this chapter.
> 
> _Watson is dead_   
> _and Sherlock is blue._   
> _There's a reason they call them_   
> _the miserable two._


	2. Heureux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate happy ending to Triste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I kept you waiting (except of course I didn't, because who on earth would be following this). Welp, here's the happy part. Please leave comments; I'd absolutely love to hear what you have to say about this!

John sat, slumped against the black cast-iron fence. His chest rose and fell shallowly, and Sherlock rushed towards him. “Good God, John, what are you doing?” Sherlock sank down next to him. John merely smiled, shrugging. “Have you no fear?” Sherlock asked him, slightly out of breath. John raised his hand and gestured towards 221B with his thumb. “Have you seen Sebastian? What are you doing back here?”

“Was on a case, like you said.” John mumbled, and Sherlock frowned. He hadn’t said anything—he hadn’t seen John in three years. “I met the sniper at the door. He said you were alive.” John’s breathing hitched. “I don’t think I can stand it anymore.” What? John couldn’t stand what?

“John, what’s wrong?” Sherlock asked, worried. He had certainly not been expecting this reaction from John at all. John smiled again, shaking his head. Sherlock tentatively pushed John’s hair away from his face, and stopped. “There’s something wet upon your hair—John, you’re hurt!” He snatched his hand away, whipping out his phone, dialling 999, panicking. “You need some help—” Sherlock’s voice shook the tiniest bit with fear as he barked out the situation and their location to 999. He sucked in a breath as he caught sight of the dark stain blooming on John’s jacket, and he dropped the phone in his hurry to yank away the jacket. John’s light blue shirt was tainted by dark red. “Oh God—it’s everywhere!” He choked on his own words. Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but John didn’t even protest. John’s smile softened, and he reached out to touch Sherlock’s face. John looked so peaceful—why did he look so peaceful?

“Don’t you fret, Sherlock Holmes,” John murmured, voice calm, “I don’t feel any pain.” Sherlock shook his head quickly, movements jerky. “A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now.” Sherlock hadn’t even noticed it was raining, and only then felt the droplets hitting his skin and his hair. “You’re here, that’s all I need to know. And you will keep me safe, and you will keep me close.” John’s gaze slid over to the flowerbeds. He huffed out a gentle little laugh. “And rain will make the flowers grow.”

“But you will live, John—” Sherlock insisted, and shifted, holding John in his arms. His hand pressed to John’s wound on his abdomen, trying to staunch the blood. “Dear God above,” he muttered under his breath. “If I could heal your wounds with words of love…” John’s head dropped onto the space between his chest and his shoulder.

“Just hold me now, and let it be.” John told him softly. That wasn’t right—John was comforting Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t need to be comforted, because everything would be good soon. “Shelter me, comfort me.”

“You would live a hundred years if I could show you how,” Sherlock said firmly, “I won’t desert you now.” Was Sherlock imagining things, or could he hear the wailing of the ambulance sirens?

“This rain can’t hurt me now.” John smiled affectionately, and Sherlock’s gaze snapped up as the sirens got louder and the ambulance appeared on Baker Street. John seemed oblivious, or as if he didn’t care. John only watched Sherlock as the paramedics swarmed out of the ambulance, quickly lifting him onto the stretcher and hefting him onboard. The paramedics didn’t even question Sherlock as he followed John. _It might have to do with the fact that John and I are still clutching the other’s hand_ , Sherlock thought absently.

“The rain will wash away what’s past, and you will keep me safe, and you will keep me close.” John murmured, not even wincing when the paramedics injected drugs into his system, hooked him up to tubes connected to swaying bags of clear liquid. They made it into the hospital, Sherlock walking briskly alongside the paramedics as they rapidly wheeled John down the different halls before John spoke again. “I’m at rest, a breath away from where you are; you’ve come home from so far.”

“Shhh, John,” Sherlock whispered soothingly, squeezing John’s hand in comfort while simultaneously checking his pulse—slightly more elevated than before. They were fast approaching the operating room. “A little fall of rain can hardly hurt you now.” Closing his eyes, he pressed a kiss to John’s forehead. “I’m here.” Sherlock told him, and the medics pulled John away.

“That’s all I need to know.” John called softly, and then the doors swung shut.

It was fifty-seven minutes, thirty-nine seconds, and two milliseconds until they led Sherlock to where John was resting. On his way, the doctor in charge of John explained that he had a mild concussion, and then went into the much more complex details of the gunshot wound but, basically, she said John was going to be okay.

As the doctor left, closing the door behind her, Sherlock ghosted to John’s side, quietly pulling up a chair so he could sit and hold John’s hand. As Sherlock’s fingers touched John’s, the smaller man blinked drowsily at him.

“I will stay with you till you are sleeping.” Sherlock reassured him. It was unnecessary to say that Sherlock would stay long after as well.

“And rain…” John closed his eyes, sighing peacefully.

“And rain…” Sherlock repeated.

“Will make the flowers…”

“Will make the flowers…” Sherlock waited, but John’s hand had loosened its grip and his chest moved steadily, evenly. Sherlock smiled softly, and finished for John. “Grow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I might make this a mini-series, so stay tuned.


End file.
